


Sir Gwaine Leads the Hunt

by MetaAllu



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaAllu/pseuds/MetaAllu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts in the cold months of the hunting season, as most things do.  That's what Percival thinks, anyway.  He doesn't actually know.  He doesn't know much about love at all, to be honest; and he knows even less about lust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sir Gwaine Leads the Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazyjayblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyjayblue/gifts).



It starts in the cold months of the hunting season, as most things do.  That's what Percival thinks, anyway.  He doesn't actually know.  He doesn't know much about love at all, to be honest; and he knows even less about lust.  Sometimes he thinks about asking Gwaine, but he worries that might jostle whatever's gone funny in his head, and then Percy will be cold again.  Maybe.  He doesn't know how these things work.  He should ask about that, too, but he thinks that Gwaine might not know either.

It starts with the first snow.  Percival wakes to find a layer of the stuff dusting the ground.  His mail is cold against his skin, and he wears a tunic under it to keep him warm, covering his arms for the first time in months.  As they head out to the hunt, Gwaine walks by him and squeezes his arm.  "Why, Percy, I never thought I'd see the day," is what he says, and Percy can feel the warmth of Gwaine's hand through the glove and tunic between them.  He watches as Gwaine gets on his horse, swift and graceful as always, then turns to his own, running a hand through her mane.

King Arthur leads the hunt, and by the time the day has grown long, there is enough snow that Percival has dismounted and is leading his horse carefully through it.  Merlin is at Arthur's side, petulantly insisting he had "told him so", and Percy smiles despite his shivering, and the grumbling complaints of the men.

It starts in Gwaine's tent.  He doesn't come for supper, so Percy brings it to him, Merlin's grumbling at his back.  Gwaine is curled up in his sleeping roll, shivering.  Percival nudges him with a booted foot, and the smell of food revives him from whatever hibernal state he had gone into.  He grabs the bowl of stew from Percy's hands, his own shaking even under the gloves and the blankets.  He's too skinny.  Percy sits on the ground beside him.

"It's bloody cold," Gwaine says.

Percy watches him eat, and when he's done, Percy takes the empty bowl to Merlin, then goes back and takes off his boots.  Gwaine shuffles to make room for him wordlessly, and as the chatter dies down outside, Percy slides into Gwaine's bedroll and wraps around him.  He's a bear of a man, and Gwaine's skinny bones are chilly to the touch.

It starts in the dead of the night.  Gwaine has stopped shivering, and Percival doesn't have the heart to move.  He thinks that Gwaine's asleep until he speaks.  His breath is warm against Percy's neck, and he near-whispers, as if afraid someone else might hear.  Maybe he has right to be.

"Are you awake?" Gwaine asks, shuffling closer as he does so.

"Hmm," Percy answers.  The silence weighs between them for a few moments.

"Have you ever kissed a man?" Gwaine asks eventually.  "I have."

He's not sure what's brought this on, but he's not about to make a big thing of it.  "What's it like?" is what he comes up with by way of answer, and he tries not to wonder too hard what it is that made Gwaine decide to kiss a man.  He'd never have thought of it.  Women seem perfectly fine.  Maybe he should ask.

"I could show you," Gwaine suggests.  It's not the first time Gwaine has said that.  He's shown Percy all sorts of things: Sword techniques, card games, old dusty rooms in the castle.  Of course, he's never made an offer quite like this.  Not to Percy, anyway.   Does he use that suggestion on women, Percy wonders.  He doesn't want to ask that either.  There are a lot of things he ends up not wanting to ask.

It starts with Gwaine's mouth pressed to his neck.  His breath is warm, and his lips are chapped by the winter wind.  When his mouth finally reaches Percy's, Percy finds that he's tense all over.  He had known for moments already that it was coming, but he has to admit he was expecting more immediacy.  Gwaine is astonishingly patient.  Maybe he's kissed a lot of men.  The novelty seems rather lacking for him either way.  He knows exactly what he's doing, and Percy nearly shakes to pieces within the first few seconds.  That's what it feels like, anyway.

Gwaine's hands travel all over him, touching everywhere.  They aren't cold anymore.  His palms are burning hot, the tips slightly chillier than the skin of his arms.  When a hand slips under his shirt and presses against his bare stomach he hisses.  It's cold now.  Gwaine laughs into his mouth, and Percival breathes the sound in, imagines it settling inside of him.

"Sorry," Gwaine whispers, then bites his bottom lip.  He pushes insistently closer, pressing every line of their bodies together.  Percy didn't think they'd fit together properly, but they do, and one of Gwaine's legs slips between his.  It presses upwards, and the noise that comes from Percy's mouth is gutteral and involuntary.  Gwaine hushes him, but he's moving his leg in little circles, so Percy bites his bottom lip and does his best to stay quiet.

Percy is starting to feel sweaty, so it's almost a relief when Gwaine shifts.  He sits up, then resettles on top of Percy, straddling him.  This Percy can kind of make heads or tails of.  It's not as if Gwaine's never ended up on top of him during sparring.  Admittedly, he's fairly sure this isn't sparring.  When Gwaine grinds his hips down, he suddenly becomes very sure that this isn't sparring.  He grips the bedroll and presses his hips up, which Gwaine seems to enjoy, so he does it again.

"There we are," Gwaine mutters, leaning down to kiss him again.  The top of the bedroll is pooled around their hips, and the air is freezing cold, but he finds there's plenty of heat between the two of them.  Gwaine's hands are on his shoulders again, mostly just holding himself up, Percy figures.  His hips are moving insistently, and even Percy knows what that lump in his trousers is.  He isn't that dumb, after all. 

"Christ," is the next word that Gwaine says, the letters mouthed against Percy's lips in a startlingly appealing fashion that makes him press up harder.  "Oh, bloody fu—" Too loud.  Percy puts a hand over Gwaine's mouth, half-expecting to get bitten, but Gwaine just laughs and licks his palm.  .  He grinds down again, challenge in his eyes and Percy understands the game.  He always was good at keeping quiet.  He thinks that he'll win.

Gwaine's hips start to stutter, his breath hitching, and Percy finds that he's in a similar state.  He moves his hand off of Gwaine's mouth, worried he'll end up squeezing too hard and bruising his face.  Bruises shaped like that would be awful hard to explain.  Gwaine's solution is to bite Percy's neck, which isn't much better, but beggars can't be choosers. 

It ends with the both of them making a mess of their trousers, breathing harshly into each other's skin.  Gwaine's hands scrabble at his shoulders and his chest, fisting the fabric of his tunic, and Percy just holds onto the bedroll for dear life, shaking and not making a sound other than a harsh pant or two.  They stay still for a few moments, pressed together at the hips, Gwaine's hips shifting in slow movements that send aftershocks tingling up Percy's spine.  When the cold creeps in they lay down proper again, and Gwaine pulls the bedroll up around them.  Percy's sweat chills on his forehead.

It starts with them waking up together.  Percy thinks one day he'll ask about it.


End file.
